


Underwater

by Galysh



Category: The Nightblade Epic - Garrett Robinson, Underrealm (Books)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-19 06:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22740520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galysh/pseuds/Galysh
Summary: The house broke on a Sunday.The electricity fizzled out first, with it went the small space heater. And the land line. The radiators. The stove. The hot water tank. The local phone lines went last, his cell flickering piteously as its bars dropped to zero. The ankle-deep water in his basement had been the final straw.
Relationships: Jordel Adair/Albern Telfer
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> ...  
> ...  
> Whoops?

The house broke on a Sunday.

The electricity fizzled out first, with it went the small space heater. And the land line. The radiators. The stove. The hot water tank. The local phone lines went last, his cell flickering piteously as its bars dropped to zero. The ankle deep water in his basement had been the final straw.

Ever since the storm had first been announced, Mag had been suggesting that he relocate to Northwood. At least until the “worst of it passed,” she’d said. Albern had held firm, citing his duties to the forest as too important. Which was true, someone needed to safeguard the woods, but that was not his whole reason for staying. The city where Mag lived did not sit well with him. There was something about the atmosphere that muddied his senses and left him feeling slow. Never a good experience for a ranger to have. The lack of cellular service did not bother him, should the need arise he had other means of communication. However, the absence of heating was different issue entirely. 

Sighing, he locked the basement door and etched the containment sigil into the wood with his pen knife. The pentagram flared brightly before fading back into the surface leaving behind only the faintest etchings. Albern retreated up the hall, crossing the small main room that doubled as his living area and kitchen to retrieve his field bag from the table. He checked its contents - Oku’s food, his archery supplies, prosthetic - before swinging it on. Oku bumped into his side, pushing his head up under his arm. 

Albern scratched behind the dog’s ears, gave the space one more look and stepped out on the porch. The door shut with a heavy thunk, the swollen wood necessitating a firm tug to drag it into place. Oku darted ahead to the car with his head tucked low. 

“Sorry, boy. This way,” Albern said and walked into the trees. There was the rapid pitter patter of paws and then the wolfhound caught up, tail wagging halfheartedly. The rain slipped through the canopy, pin balling off the leaves to land on the ground with a steady sound that muted everything else. Albern enjoyed walking through woodlands - be it rain or shine - it was part of why he loved his job. The heady scent of wet mulch and mud was a constant, promising new birth once the skies calmed their fury. Oku slunk along beside him, occasionally giving a desolate shake that served him little. 

As Albern walked, his thoughts ran rampant flitting between meal plans to patrol schedules. Regularly checking on the woods would be imperative. Though the park had been closed since the weather turned foul, there was no accounting for poor decisions. He’d been called to retrieve some lost tourist too frequently to expect a peaceful break. The fact that there hadn’t already been an alarm sent out was a miracle.

Automatically, his hand drifted up fingers tapping against his necklace. The beads remained cool to his touch, not-transmitting. Should his help be required they would warm, alerting him to the coordinates via an embedded voice. 

Oku barked. 

Albern spun, turning slowly to eye the underbrush but all he saw was his dog dashing off, his tail held high in a 'follow-me' gesture. Albern ran after him, skidding on the wet ground and tripping over various roots. He caught up as the ground rose, the wolfhound having paused at the top of a gully. "Hold Oku!" Albern called, “hold!”

The dog, muscles bunching as if he’d been considering scrambling down the embankment, looked back at him. Albern dropped his bag and rushed over, grabbing hold of Oku’s harness. Oku settled immediately. Crouching, Albern gazed over the edge. Where normally a stream ran dancing amidst the stones the water now rushed sending up a constant spray. 

He saw it then. A flash of red through the trees. A color out of place for both the location and the season. "Tiss," he said softly, and eased closer to the embankment, shielding his eyes with a gloved hand. The red flash came again, moving erratically through the trees. It was heading in his direction, he noted, if it kept going that way it would run into the gully. 

He frowned, turning his attention further downstream, where he knew an old bridge to be. He stood, collected his bag, and made his way along the gully; Oku followed behind, a large lump of sopping fur that occasionally let out displeased woofs. 

To his great relief, the bridge had not yet flooded although the water lapped threateningly at its underbelly. The wooden planks were slick beneath his boots, the railings too gross to touch even with his glove. Eyes narrowed against the increasing rainfall he pressed onward, seeking any sign of the red flash, but it was nowhere to be seen. There was a stillness in the air that hadn't been present earlier. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up. He adjusted his bag, sliding it down onto one shoulder and eased forwards. 

Oku barked. Loud and jarring. Albern dropped. The dog cleared his back easily, a bristling mass that stood in front of him. Keeping low, Albern took shelter behind a tree and peered out. It took a moment of careful searching but he soon spotted them. Three figures, the smallest of whom wore a red coat. The other two stood unnaturally, bent near double so that all four of their limbs touched the ground. Yet, they did not appear to be animals for their coloring and stance was like nothing Albern had ever seen. 

"Quiet, Oku," Albern said, setting his bag down. The trio remained focused on each other. The creatures appeared unwilling to engage the figure in red, shifting their weight about yet not advancing more than a foot. With deliberate slowness he unzipped his bag and leaned the top portion against the tree. Eyes never leaving his targets, he withdrew a handful of arrows, grasped them gingerly with his teeth and strung his bow. 

Thus armed, he picked a position that gave him a clear line of sight on all three and shoved the arrows into a tree trunk. The situation did not clarify itself despite his new position. The largest of the beasts - fur like a tiger’s but possessing three tails too many - lurched forwards suddenly. 

The cloaked figure dove out of the way with an inhumane speed. Albern fired. The creature landed, spun and leapt again only to stagger. An arrow protruding from the back of its head. It wobbled, swayed and collapsed in an ungainly sprawl of limbs. 

Without pause, Albern snagged an arrow, slotted it and fired once more. The projectile flew true but the second beast moved faster, a barbed tail batting the projectile aside. It caterwauled, an ear ringing sound, and skittered forwards. Its feet seemed to dance across the ground. 

Albern took advantage of its inattention and reloaded. The creature was still stalking the figure in red. Albern inhaled slowly, bit the leather strap firmly and fired on the exhale. The arrow skidded across thick scales, leaving an indentation that promptly began to ooze black gunk. The creature turned its head - 360 degrees - and moved. 

Calmly, Albern yanked an arrow out of the tree, lined his shot and fired. Once. Twice. Thrice. The creature tanked the first two hits, barreling through them with terrifying determination. The third caught its bulging eye and carved a path along its face. It cried out, slowing slightly. Snarling, Oku moved forwards.

He grabbed another arrow, straightened up and the world went white. Cursing, Albern dropped his bow and rubbed at his eyes. He could hear Oku whimpering, could smell the scent of burned flesh and the sudden warmth of sunlight dispelling the rain. Blinking - eyes watering - he looked about. The whole area was awash with daylight and though the rain still fell it glittered like miniature diamonds. 

Oku was nearby, rubbing at his own snout and whining. A few feet from the dog lay the scaled beast, smoke drifting off its corpse. Frowning, Albern adjusted his bow and approached. “Well aren’t you just the ugliest thing,” he said. It looked almost like an armadillo with its hard scales if said armadillo had had an abnormally large growth spurt. Curled up as it was, he could not tell its full size but even that length was longer than Oku’s. “What dark hole did you crawl out from?” 

The creature did not provide a satisfactory answer, neither did its compatriot -patterned like a tiger - but more humanoid in appearance. “Or science experiment,” Albern muttered. 

Albern tapped his necklace thoughtfully, animals did fall under his jurisdiction but these were not regular animals. A groan attracted his attention. “Oku,” Albern called and walked towards the noise. The daylight still covered the area, a spherical surface that screamed of magical interference. 

The groan came again more articulate this time and sounded frustrated. He saw it then, the figure in red, slumped at the base of a tree. Even as Albern approached, it moved - standing up only to collapse onto its knees - coughing. And that was Trade. Human then, Albern decided. 

“That was an impressive display of magic, friend,” he said mildly.

The head snapped up, rain slicked white hair, tanned skin and oh. Albern re-evaluated rapidly. Not human then. At least not entirely. “First time seeing creatures like that all the way out here,” he continued. “Smiting them seems to be pretty effective.”

“It is.” Tone dry. Voice raw like it had been used a little too frequently. 

“Impressive,” Albern said again and smiled. 

"Not particularly,” said the other, finally making it to his feet and staying there. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here, friend. What are you doing in these woods?” 

There was a faint narrowing of the man’s eyes, and pointedly with a visible slowness, he looked around. Albern rolled his own eyes, “not here specifically. Just in the area.” 

“I see,” was the reply. The man stepped forwards, limping a little and approached one of the creatures. 

“What are these then?” Albern asked. Three strides brought him parallel with the man, on the other side of the body. Closer inspection revealed the red fabric to be a trench coat -ripped and muddied - but still serviceable. 

“Carcasses.”

“You don’t say,” Albern dead-panned. “And what type of carcasses might these be?”

“That is little concern of yours.”

“Considering that I killed one of them, I would disagree.”

The man gave him a look, thoughtful almost, but before long he sighed deeply and spoke. “My apologies. It would seem that I have been presumptuous and acted discourteously in turn.” 

“You’ve been quite rude,” Albern agreed. “The creatures?” He nudged at it with his boot. “They look like some grad student went at it a little too hard for their final exams.” 

“Your guess is as good as mine,” the man said. “It was by accident that I encountered these two.” He knelt and rolled the carcass over. Two eyes - devoid of life - but visibly human stared up at them. Albern swallowed, turning away. He spotted Oku sniffing at the scaled creature, and whistled. 

The wolfhound perked up and came over, tail wagging. “Good boy,” Albern said quietly. “What a brave boy you were.” Oku pressed against him, demanding affection with careless delight. Affection that Albern was more than willing to bestow.

“Handsome dog you’ve got there,” the man said. He’d abandoned the body but appeared disinclined to stand up. The light shone on his skin, highlighting the sweat that coated it and giving him an unhealthy sheen. Albern grunted an agreement, giving Oku a firm pat. The dog left his side, sniffed the carcass inquisitively - abandoned it and shoved his nose in the man’s face. “Hello to you as well,” the man said. He chuckled and something shifted in Albern’s stomach at the sound. Resolutely, he forced his attention elsewhere.

There was an ‘oof’ from behind him as Oku knocked the man over and proceeded to clean his face. Albern left the dog to it, retrieving his bag and storing his bow away. When he returned, the man had made it to his feet though he was still bent over, Oku seated before him and clearly enjoying the thorough ear scratching.

“Do you have a cell phone?” The man asked, intent on his task. 

“No.”

That drew him a concerned look, “you live all the way out here with-”

“It died,” Albern interrupted. “Yours?”

“Woefully misplaced,” the man said, “Is there a phone booth or landline nearby?” He gestured to the bodies, “I should call these in.”

“Phone lines are down,” Albern said, “your best bet would be to head city-side and call it in from there.” 

“You have no means of communication?” 

Concern was seeping into the man’s tone again and Albern bristled. “I am well equipped to deal with the woods,” he said sharply. “This is not the first storm that Oku and I have weathered.” 

“Of course,” the man said although he still looked dubious. Albern ran a hand through his hair, shaking out the rain. His hood had fallen back sometime during his run, leaving him with little protection. The sunlight was beginning to fade, the sky returning to a muted gray. 

“You’re still several miles away from the city,” he said, “Not an unreasonable distance but who knows what might happen to these creatures while you called it in.”

The man nodded but said nothing so Albern continued. “My cottage is closer. It would be possible to contact HQ from there.” 

“If it’s not an imposition,” the man said, “I would prefer not to leave these carcasses unattended.” 

“No imposition,” Albern said. He eyed the two bodies and after a moment moved to the armadillo. The scales were unpleasant to the touch, warm and slimy like a worm’s skin. Nausea rose in his throat but he fought it down and hoisted up the creature. It remained a partially curled mass that dripped down his shirt and blocked his view. 

“Would you prefer the other?” The man asked. 

“No,” Albern grunted and whistled for Oku. With the addition of the carcass, retracing his steps became harder but Albern had been blessed with a good sense of direction. There was little spoken between the two. Albern could feel the man’s gaze fixated on his back - assessing him no doubt. It was off putting. The people he usually encountered in the woods were either grateful to see him or angry. He suspected that his lack of right arm might be responsible. He’d considered putting on the prosthetic when he’d departed but ultimately rejected it, rainwater tended to gum up the system. Albern rolled his shoulders as best he could and walked a little faster. 

Up ahead the old bridge still stood, water splashing over the surface. Oku - brave soul - did not hesitate to run across. He skidded a little, tail pinwheeling but arrived on the other side safely. Albern was more careful in his crossing, placing each foot down with care. The man did not appear to have the same apprehension, walking so closely on Albern’s heels that he could hear the trench coat swishing. 

The trail continued for some time, seeming to draw out for much longer than it had on his exit. The rain seeped through his outer clothing, soaking his undershirt and running in rivulets down his neck. Albern shivered. Oku had run on ahead, barely visible through the gray sheet of rain. His fingers had gone cold and he was losing feeling in his feet, water sloshing with each step. Belatedly, he remembered that the lack of electricity meant that the cottage would be frigid. He doubted that the fireplace - something that Albern had never needed to use since he’d moved in - would magically fill itself with dry lumber. 

“Almost there,” he said, more for his own benefit than his shadow’s. The cottage came into view. A stout one-story building possessing a wrap-around porch and slanted eaves. On its eastern side, a stone shed had been built and it was to this that Albern brought his quarry. He deposited it roughly by the door and bent over, breath coming rapidly and strained. His glove and sleeve were coated in the creature’s blackish blood, it stuck to them like a particularly distasteful asphalt. 

Groaning, Albern straightened up and slid the door panel open. The man - appearing unbothered by the weight of his own carcass - stepped past him and set it down in a corner. The same twisting feeling from earlier returned, and Albern frowned shoving the armadilloesque creature inside.

Oku was waiting in front of the door looking for all the world like he was trying to open through sheer will power. “Alright alright,” Albern said - laughing a little, “Scoot over.” 

He unlocked the door, needing to give it a firm shove when it remained stuck and stepped inside. Oku barreled past him, making a beeline for where his food dish lay. He let out a truly tragic howl when he discovered it missing. “It was packed away, remember?” Albern said, adding “don’t look at me like that,” a moment later. 

“Cozy place,” the man said.

“It has its perks,” Albern agreed. He shoved the door back into its frame and forced the various locks shut, before turning to his guest. “There’s a bathroom to your right, second door at the end of the hall. Just leave your wet clothes outside, I’ll hang them up.”

“And what shall I wear in the meantime?” The man asked, eyes glinting. In the building’s interior they appeared to glow more than they had outside. 

“I’ll loan you something,” Albern replied. He eyed his glove miserably for a long moment before using one of the deadbolts to pull it off instead of his teeth. Freed of the filthy item, he set his bag down and tiredly began to unbutton his own overcoat. 

“You will?”

Albern looked over. The man was smiling. With the same deliberateness that he had surveyed the woods earlier, the man’s eyes slid down and then back up. It took a second for the gesture to register, but when it did Albern felt his cheeks heat up, both from embarrassment and from the subsequent image that had appeared. 

“You’re not that much taller!” Albern exclaimed. Face burning he spun away, tugging roughly at his coat. It fell to the ground, adding to the ever growing puddle of water. His shirt and undershirt were next. There was a strangled noise, and he looked back to find the man _hadn’t moved_. “Bathroom!” Albern ordered, arm flailing in what he hoped was a menacing manner. 

“Right,” the man said looking rather distressed. “I’ll be going-” He disappeared down the hallway. 

Muttering a few choice words, Albern retrieved a towel from the kitchen and called for Oku. The dog was more than willing to wriggle his wet and stinking body under the cloth. “People these days. No sense of courtesy,” Albern told him, pressing his still heated cheeks against the dog’s coarse fur. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would ya boy?”

Oku licked his nose. 

Albern released him, laughing despite himself. He hung the wet clothing on the drying rack. He glanced towards the bathroom and saw that his guest had done as bid. Swiftly, a little nervously, he retrieved the stack of sodden clothes - neatly folded as if that would help - and hung them up as well. He heard the shower kick into gear with its usual stutter, and clambered up into the loft. 

When he had first moved into the cottage - nearly a decade ago - the loft had been a dusty storage area replete with rat chewed documents and a horrid stench. It had taken some time to make it habitable, but now there was nothing to prevent him from collapsing onto the mattress that took up most of the floor. The sheets were icy. With a foul word, Albern rolled across the surface to his dresser and rooted about inside. 

Years ago, Sten had given him two muscle tees - souvenirs from a trip he’d taken with Mag - which Albern primarily used as sleep shirts. Either one of them would fit his obnoxiously tall -but shorter than Sten - guest. Albern snorted disparagingly and held up the first muscle tee; the stylized ghost adorning the front stared back at him. “Yeah, no,” Albern muttered tossing it aside. The second - a lovely black shirt with PRIDE stenciled on the front - received the same treatment. 

There were precious few other options, but eventually he came across one of his old k9 unit sweaters. Not as baggy as the shirts perhaps, but not as blatant either. He collected it, a pair of shorts, and his own change of clothing before returning downstairs. 

“Ah,” the man said, looking up and Albern froze part-way down. “I hope you do not mind, but I took a quick shower. Your hot water appears to be not-functioning.”

“I - I heard,” Albern replied, caught in the uncomfortable position of not knowing where to look. Dressed in a trench coat, stooped under the rain and liberally splattered with mud, the man had not appeared that stunning. Now though, clean and lacking any garments other than Albern’s towel, he found the man to be more akin to a bronze hero of olden times. Albern swallowed, once and then twice for good measure, gaze fixating on the ceiling. “Sorry about the hot water. It failed awhile back.” He shifted on the ladder, realized his own state of undress even as he made to hold out the spare set of clothing, and recoiled. 

“Are you quite alright, friend?” Somehow the man managed to sound concerned, amused, and smug simultaneously. He took a step closer, head tilting inquiringly. 

“Ye’P’. All good. We all good,” Albern said, the floor was no more appealing than the ceiling had been. Feet appeared in his line of vision, and then a hand - oddly warm - pressed gently against his forehead. 

“Are you sure?” 

The man truly had no business sounding that compassionate. As if he had no idea of the effect he was having. “Truly, I’m well,” Albern said haltingly. He lifted his gaze and immediately regretted, for he saw that they were now of an even height. Up close the man’s eyes were truly mesmerizing. The voice that lived in the back of mind - it sounded awfully like Mag - insisted that he should shove the clothing at the man and make his escape. The rest of his brain though, thought that would be a shame. 

“I do not think that hu - ah.” The man stopped and then to Albern’s simultaneous relief and despair backed away, his hand returning to his side. “Do you know when this storm will calm itself?” The man asked, no longer facing Albern but the window instead. 

Albern didn’t dignify that with an answer, too busy burying his face into the pile of clothing. When it felt as if he could breath without embarrassing himself, he climbed the rest of the way down to set the clothing on the table. “Weather reports have been inconclusive,” he said. 

“Clothing’s on the table, they should fit even your build.” The man nodded, without turning and Albern retreated to the hallway, grabbing his flashlight on the way. Knowing the basement to be flooded, he left his own spare clothing outside and unsealed the door. 

Water lapped at the stairs, splashing high enough to hit his toes. Albern groaned sweeping the flashlights beam across the surface. It was at least knee high, perhaps more for the floor was not flat. Sighing he made his way down the steps, wincing as soon as he breached the surface. The com - protected by a metal box - was where he’d left it, hovering mid-air and smack in the middle of the room. Albern had always been told that the com should not leave the basement so as to keep its functioning optimal, but he was not about to spend who knew how long standing in waist deep water. 

The box fit in the crook of his arm, deceptively heavy for its size and he nearly dropped it, transferring the flashlight over. He returned to the main room, where his guest now sat, and plunked it on the table. “Com line. Just input 1-20-5-12-6-5-17, and it should activate,” Albern said. “Hang on, let me write that out.” He looked around but a hand covered his own, and he stilled. 

“1-20-5-12-6-5-17,” the man repeated. “Thank you.” His smile, Albern decided, could light up a whole room. “You’re cold,” the man added a moment later, “perhaps heating the water for a bath would be advisable.”

It was a valid suggestion but the sight of the man wearing Albern’s clothing was doing odd things to his innards. A cold shower was rapidly becoming a necessity. “I do not mind the cold,” he replied instead.

“I can see that,” said the man. Albern blinked down at him, caught sight of his own bare flesh and through sheer force of will overturned his instinctual grimace into an arched eyebrow. “That said,” the man continued, “it is inadvisable to wander around open areas with little protection. I would hate for my savior to catch something.” So saying, he squeezed Albern’s hand gently between both of his own. The sheer sincerity in his expression, the faintest furrow of his brows, and that damnable smile were all combining to chase Albern’s common sense out there door.

“Unless you’re offering to heat that water yourself, I’m afraid that I must decline for I’ve run out of firewood,” Albern said and after a breath freed his hand, “though your concern is noted.” He trailed off, brain short-circuiting for the third time that day. “I’m afraid that I must apologize, friend, I’ve quite forgotten to ask you your name.” 

The smile transformed into a smirk within the span of a heartbeat. “It is polite to introduce oneself first,” the man said. The glint in his eye was rapidly veering towards devious. 

“You’re wearing my name,” Albern said, and because he hadn’t been granted the common sense that the gods had given squirrels leaned forwards to poke at the embroidery. 

“A. Teeel-fer?” The man shifted under his hand, leaning back to tug at the sweater. “A. Aaron? Axel? Abrahim? Alexander?” 

Despite himself, Albern chuckled and straightened. “Albern Telfer, that lazy pup over there is Oku.” He gestured towards the corner where his wolfhound was curled up. 

“A courageous hound to go with a noble man,” his guest said and stood up, holding out his hand. “I am Jordel of the family Adair, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Albern answered, shaking his hand. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in need of a shower to scrub this grime off.”


End file.
